


danser avec le diable

by trenchcoatboy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 09:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trenchcoatboy/pseuds/trenchcoatboy
Summary: Aziraphale may be the only angel who dances, but that doesn't mean he dances alone.





	1. Paris 1895

Aziraphale winds his way about the ballroom, admiring the scenery and very much appreciating the food. While he might be here because the French aristocracy is distinctly lacking in goodness, he must say that they know how to throw a party. The food and decorations both are quite splendid, and he's rather enjoying himself, he must say. They even dance the Gavotte at these things. It really couldn't be better. Of course, this isn't true, as Aziraphale is forcefully reminded by the sight of a familiar shade of red and the realization that he is a good deal happier now than he was a few seconds ago. He makes his way over to the demon.

"Crowley!"

He gets pointedly ignored, but decides not to notice. Then he's struck with a truly wonderful idea.

"Do you dance, Crowley?"

"Not if I can help it," comes the dismissive reply.

"Oh.... alright. What brings you here, then?"

"Got tempting to do."

"Yes, right, that is what you do, of course...and I'm here for a blessing, as that's what I do..." he trails off hopelessly.

"Well. I'll...see you around, then."

The response is a noncommittal shrug.Then Crowley walks away, just like that, just like nothing. He starts up a conversation with one of the guests, and, try as he might, Aziraphale cannot help but overhear. The other man, who looks entirely too cheerful to be on friendly terms with Crowley, speaks first.

"That man over there, handsome, no?"

Crowley shrugs.

"Barely tolerable, if you ask me."

The party doesn't seem so splendid after that.


	2. Vienna 1945

Aziraphale can feel the celebration in the air, albeit tinged with grief. He's not actually here on business, just wanted to take part in a bit of the post-war happiness. This room may not be quite as splendid as a ballroom in France, but he rather thinks some things might be better than splendidness. He's barely finished having this thought when a familiar sunglasses-clad face is in front of him asking

"May I have the next dance?"

Aziraphale feels very much as if he's been violently thrown back into 1895 and not at all as if he has the mental capacity to speak and yet somehow the words,

"You may."

come out of his mouth, which is completely ridiculous, especially because

"Crowley, I can't dance."

The demon smiles, and there's nothing cold or sinister about it at all.

"Don't worry; I'll teach you."

It's ridiculous, really, but it's also so much better than splendid that Aziraphale doesn't argue.

"Alright," he says.

And Crowley teaches him the dance, bit by bit, until Aziraphale finds that he can lead it more or less properly without any instruction. Then it's over, and Crowley's leading him through a different dance, this one slower, heavier, with more tension. Aziraphale decides to break the silence.

"What brings you here, then, Crowley?"

"Just passing through, thought I'd see a friend. Got a favor to ask him, actually."

Aziraphale smiles.

"Ask away, then."

"That's just it, though. I've already asked him, a long time ago. He said no."

Aziraphale feels as though a cloud has passed over him.

"Crowley, I can't! You cannot ask this of me! I won't give you the key to your destruction."

"I told you, I just need it for insurance. Don't you ever listen, Angel?"

"I'm sorry, Crowley, I can't do it."

The dance is over, and once again Aziraphale finds himself watching Crowley walk away from him.

It's 1895 all over again.


	3. London 2019

There's a violin somewhere; it doesn't matter where. The music floats down to the square, mixing with the sound of the nightingale as Aziraphale and Crowley go for a rather nice walk after a very nice dinner. They have no particular destination, no plan, great, ineffable, or otherwise. Aziraphale thinks to himself that it couldn't be better. (He's wrong again, of course.) Crowley turns to him.

"This is a waltz."

Aziraphale blushes without knowing why. He thinks Crowley might be blushing too.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

Crowley holds out his hand. Aziraphale smiles and takes it. They dance there, in Berkeley Square, to the sound of the nightingale and the violin, after the world doesn't end.

It isn't anything at all like 1895.


	4. Epilogue: London 2020

Rain falls outside the bookshop. It's the sort of day that envelops the whole city in grey, but not quite in a depressing way. More like a blanket of water for the whole of London. The soft patter against the shop windows is rather pleasant, Crowley thinks as he lies on the sofa with his head in Aziraphale's lap as the angel reads. They've had a beautifully quiet day full of tea, books, and comfortable silences like the one he's about to end with a comfortable conversation.

"Angel."

Aziraphale moves his eyes from the page to Crowley.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember the first time it rained? Ever?"

The angel smiles with more fondness than should be possible for anyone.

"Of course I do, my dear. That was the day we met. I covered you with my wing."

It's Crowley's turn to smile now.

"You did. I was glad you did. Wasn't sure about this rain stuff."

"It's not so bad."

"No, it isn't."

Still smiling, Crowley gets up off the sofa and offers Aziraphale his hand.

"Might I have this dance?"

"But, my dear, we haven't any music."

"We've got the rain."

He grins, then second guesses himself.

"...for old times' sake?"

Aziraphale takes his hand, smiling again.

"Yes, the rain will be quite enough."


End file.
